


Not A Courier

by SpicyGoddess



Series: New Vegas AU [7]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas, Marble Hornets
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Torture, Minor Character Death, Mistaken Identity, beating up characters, nothing graphic, of said minor character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28666224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyGoddess/pseuds/SpicyGoddess
Summary: Despite Brian’s confusion at the situation, and almost certain concussion, he vaguely realized that he was better off playing as this courier that they seemed to think he was. They seemed convinced that they had the right person, and if Brian managed to prove otherwise, they would probably just kill him. Brian knew that they were most likely going to torture him for information, but that at the very least would increase the chances for someone to find him. More realistically however, he knew that he would have to plan his own escape. For now...he had to buy time.
Series: New Vegas AU [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695664
Kudos: 3





	Not A Courier

**Author's Note:**

> Me omw to post more New Vegas AU knowing full well that like 5 people will read it.

Brian's eyes blinked open, staring down at himself without truly registering his surroundings- or more importantly how he got where he was. He lifted his head, and immediately became aware of a throbbing at the back of his skull. He screwed his eyes shut, trying to will the feeling away.

“Hey, looks like our friend is awake.” A voice spoke, far too close to his ear for comfort. His eyes snapped open toward the direction the voice came from. He attempted to stand, and felt his arms catch on something, then realized that his hands were tied behind him. Not good.

Just as his mind registered that, he noticed he was staring at a crimson uniform, one that he was hoping wasn’t that of the Legion. He felt his heart drop nonetheless.

Of course he already knew that there was no chance it wasn’t. If he could have leaned back and thuncked his still hurting head onto something he probably would have. He was most definitely fucked.

“Good morning courier,” A nasally voice was speaking, and Brian could hear a self satisfied smirk in it. “Sleep well?”

“Not...a courier,” His words were thick, and he struggled to get what he wanted to say out. The part of him that was trained as a medic realized that something was majorly wrong. He needed to get out of here before more damage could be done, though on some level he knew that would be nearly impossible.

He didn't have long to dwell on that as suddenly a fist connected with his stomach, causing the air to leave his lungs as he made a choked grunt. That would be another injury to deal with if he got out of here. Belatedly he realized he probably shouldn't have claimed to not be a courier.

“Don’t play dumb with me.” The Legionnaire hissed, reaching behind Brian, and grabbing part of the chair, tipping it back, forcing Brian to look at him. “You have information that Caesar wants.”

Despite Brian’s confusion at the situation, and almost certain concussion, he vaguely realized that he was better off playing as this courier that they seemed to think he was. They seemed convinced that they had the right person, and if Brian managed to prove otherwise, they would probably just kill him. Brian knew that they were most likely going to torture him for information, but that at the very least would increase the chances for someone to find him. More realistically however, he knew that he would have to plan his own escape. For now...he had to buy time.

He grinned up at the legionnaire, “Your Caesar might be out of luck,” he managed to say, words still just as muddled as before, but he made a point to pronounce Caesar the way he knew would rile up his interrogator. He took pride in having that tiny amount of power, but that feeling didn't last for long.

The man dropped his chair, thankfully it landed on all 4 legs, but a second later a fist connected with Brian’s jaw, almost causing the chair to tip sideways from force alone.

“Wipe that stupid smile off your face.” The man standing above him growled. Brian groaned. It was going to be a long few days.  
-  
After what Brian assumed was a few days, four? They started depriving him of food and water. He guessed the next thing would be sleep, and he knew he would have to find a way out before things got to a point where he was too delirious to _think_.

He knew no one was coming by now. He should have realized that at the start, the New California Republic hardly had reason to rescue an average medic. Rumor in the camps had it that they didn’t even have the resources to mount a search for a ranger, for the best of them.

He sat, and slowly began to plot, taking note of his surroundings. Of what could work to his advantage. One of the men was out on what Brian assumed was patrol, he had fallen asleep before he had left. For now he only had to deal with one legionnaire, but he didn’t know how long that would last. He moved his wrists, testing the rope. They hadn’t loosened nearly enough in the past few days. Slowly he began pulling at the rope with his wrists, trying to see if he could work them loose while he only had one pair of eyes near him.

He jumped when he heard a gunshot ring out outside. The man in the building noticed, and smirked.

“Scared, courier?” He asked, Brian doesn’t grace that with more than a half hearted glare. The man only laughed. “Probably just shot your chance at rescue, huh?” The man muses, not even attempting to fake sympathy.

It’s matter of fact, just like Brian’s death at their hands is slowly becoming. On the first day he might have said something snarky, but now he hardly had the energy to keep his head up. His body was stiff, and his throat hurt. He knew that he’d be dead if they kept this going for another two days at most.

He heard footsteps approaching, and slumped in defeat. He had gotten nowhere. Then he realized he recognized those steps. His brows furrowed. Those shouldn’t be here.

The door slammed open, and before Brian could look up again, a shot rang out, followed quickly by the sound of a body hitting the floor.

He squinted at the figure, who was currently framed by the bright light from outside, light he hadn’t seen in full force for days. He could make out a wide brimmed hat, and could tell that something was covering his face. As he approached, Brian could see that it was actually two things, a pair of goggles over his eyes, and a bandana covering the lower part of his face, a large red curve was painted on it, both ends facing down. Aside from that, Brian could see he was dressed in the standard gear of a mercenary, a trouble maker specifically. Had someone hired him to find him?

The man approached, unfazed by Brian’s confusion, stepping behind him. Brian didn’t fight him, if he was here to kill him he would have done so already...for now Brian would play along the same way he had since he had been here. The ropes were cut, and he felt relieved as he was finally able to move his arms again.

“Thank you,” He made a move to stand, but a heavy gloved hand fell on his shoulder, keeping him sitting. The weight of the hand felt familiar, but wrong somehow. Vaguely he remembered the sound of footsteps approaching the house. A voice, similar to his own yelling "Brian, you need to come out here and look at this bug!"

Footsteps in the entrance of their home, as a duster was pulled on and a voice called out "Making a delivery, it will take a few days. You going to be okay?"

The buzz of a radio announcing that a courier had been found dead near Goodsprings. The hope that those footsteps would be heard in the hall by the door. The sound of the night as they never came.

He gave the man a puzzled look, but he was already looking away, digging through his bag. He felt a bottle of water being shoved in his hands. He eyed it, it looked purified, and at this point if it wasn’t...he was willing to take the radiation. He tried to drink it slowly, but ended up finishing it off in less than a minute.

The man looked him over again, and seemed satisfied with what he sawed, and began walking to the door. When he got there, he looked back at Brian, tilting his head as if to ask “Are you coming?”

A wave as he left, excited at the prospect of having deliveries that coincided with that of his friends.

Brian forced the memories out of his head, trying to justify them as merely the effects of dehydration as he stood and followed him into the Mojave.

But the figure had been so familiar…  
-  
They stopped periodically, during that time the man would give him water and would share food with him. Each time, he watched expectantly, ensuring Brian had finished whatever he had been given; only then would they move again. He never spoke, however, after Brian had commented on that, the man fiddled with something on his wrist and the radio fizzled on. Brian stopped trying to make conversation after that, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that something about this person was all too familiar. But… Off.

That he chalked up to the effects of dehydration and the large part of grief he knew he still hadn’t recovered from. His brother was dead after all.

His continued reminders to himself didn't stop him from wondering though. That night they set up camp between two small hills that provided decent enough shelter for the night. Sometime after the sun had set the man waved his hand toward Brian's bed, really it was a glorified sheet and not even his own. Brian hesitantly settled himself on it and tried to drift off. He even succeeded for a while!

Yet the thoughts never left. The morbid curiosity, the mere possibility of being right was too overwhelming. He needed to get up, needed to _know_.

Maybe then he could finally let go.

The sheet rustled as he stood, and he scanned the camp using the dim light of the waning moon. The coals were no longer bright enough to provide light to see by, but still were far from cool.

The figure of him, of E-

The mercenary. He was upright, leaning against a rock, Brian suspected he was asleep. Quietly he approached, cringing at every rock that shifted under his weight, afraid that they would wake him, but his travel companion never twitched.

Brian had to steel himself as he reached out, fingertips brushing the fabric that still covered the lower half of the man's face.

A hand shot up, it's grip iron on his wrist. Brian's heart froze.

Eyes, an all too familiar color stared into his and for the first time Brian realized that his goggles had been removed, yet it wasn't enough. He couldn't see enough to truly identify this man. To truly _know_.

Hazel eyes weren't enough.

The man shook his head and released Brian's wrist, gently pushing it away. Brian Almost expected more. Anger perhaps? Instead he was once again motioned back to his bed.

He went. He dreamed of hazel eyes, of the light of the New Vegas strip reflecting off of them, of a gun aiming. The fear, his heart sinking in an all too familiar way, _the realization those steps would never come home_.

Then a hand shook him and he was greeted by a covered face and the blue orange of the rising sun.  
-  
It took two days before they ran into a group of NCR soldiers, at which point, the man gestured for Brian to wait with the other men, as his rescuer went and spoke with the man in charge. Brian assumed it was to explain the situation, and he realized, with a minor bout of annoyance, that the man had specifically chosen not to speak with him the entire time.  
-  
“Lucky that courier came your way.” The lieutenant spoke, once Brian had fully explained what had happened. “You’d probably be dead if he hadn’t.

Brian’s thoughts were hung up on only one of those words. “Courier?” He asked, mind already racing through a series of questions- was this the courier the legion was after? Then the question he wasn't ready to ask. He didn't want to entertain it, but it was _there_.

_Goodsprings_

The lieutenant nodded, “Been helping out at a lot of NCR encampments lately, providing supplies assisting in firefights. Good man, that Courier Six.”

Brian nodded, “He is.” he agreed despondently, not having it in him to say much more as he had other thoughts running through his mind.

‘Why did they think I was him?’

Could it be?

**Author's Note:**

> Relevant notes for this one: Hoody and Brian are twins in this au! Minor spoiler lol but you probably already figured out who Brian's rescuer was!  
> Note two: What's the best way to try to make this more of an au? Use a quote from the source material! asdfghjkl


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